


Take Me To Church

by ScarletR



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: But Bruce loves him anyway, Churches are the best place for homoerotic tension, Future Fic, Gordon is kinda but not really in this fic, Jeremiah is an asshole, Jeremiah is an insecure bitch who deals with his problems via kidnapping, Love the tags? You'll love the story even more!, M/M, This is both sappy and dark, bruce is an adult
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-11-05 01:16:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17909252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarletR/pseuds/ScarletR
Summary: Across the room, Jeremiah smiled wickedly at him, his lips a shiny, bright red.Bruce knows it’s “China Doll” by Revlon and that it discontinued four years ago. He knows that Jeremiah has boxes of it from before its discontinuation, refusing to wear any other color by any other brand. He knows it tastes like rose oil and smears easily, especially on clothing. He knows it comes in a cute package with black and gold swirls lining the box. And most of all, he knows Jeremiah feels insecure without it on.OR - An AU set a few years in the future where Jeremiah never fell into the batch of ACE chemicals and where Bruce and Jeremiah's relationship goes beyond just being "brothers."





	Take Me To Church

Across the room, Jeremiah smiled wickedly at him, his lips a shiny, bright red. 

Bruce knows it’s “China Doll” by Revlon and that it discontinued four years ago. He knows that Jeremiah has boxes of it from before its discontinuation, refusing to wear any other color by any other brand. He knows it tastes like rose oil and smears easily, especially on clothing. He knows it comes in a cute package with black and gold swirls lining the box. And most of all, he knows Jeremiah feels insecure without it on. 

“Hmm,” Jeremiah hummed, his eyes wide with faux naivety. “I’m curious as to what has brought you to my humble domain.” 

Bruce knew “humble” wasn’t exactly the right word to describe Jerimiah’s church full of his crazy followers, but he let it slide. Luckily, the room was empty save for the two of them and he wouldn’t have to fight off any mentally unstable “church-goers” at the moment. 

Bruce took a step deeper into the ominous room, keeping back a flinch as he stepped on a broken piece of glass. The sharp cracking sound moved thought the room better than either of their voices ever could. 

“Gordon. You have him here.” 

Jeremiah blinked innocently, supposedly clueless. “And who told you that?” 

Bruce said nothing, wanting to save his informant from a slow, painful death. 

Blue, purple, and red light shone through one of the stained glass windows and landed on the villain’s pale face. His green eyes looked otherworldly, almost reptilian, but Bruce knew better than that. Jeremiah was human, made of blood, bone, and soft, pale flesh.

There were two columns and many rows of church pews between them, but they slowly made their way to the path that lay clear between them. The villain’s shoes clicked against the tile floor while Bruce’s steps were silent, slow, and painfully steady. Jeremiah was dressed in a dark purple suit with matching white gloves that almost matched the shade of his skin. His hair was free today, unobscured by a hat, leaving his thick locks visible. 

Jeremiah smiled sharply, his eyes dark and predatory. He swayed from side to side, balancing on the heels of his feet. “Well, if you have no proof then I think it’s only fair that you scadattle on out of – ” 

Bruce frowned. “This is low, even for you.”

In the blink of an eye Jeremiah was upon him, pressing a knife against the hollow of Bruce’s throat. His green eyes were alight with rage and he was sneering, showing off his white teeth. His voice came out in a low growl. “Is that a challenge, Brucie? Because if it is, I’d be more than happy to show you just how low I’m willing to stoop.” 

He pressed the knife closer to the vulnerable skin of Bruce’s neck, but the vigilante didn’t flinch. In fact, he didn’t seem fazed in the slightest. 

Now that Jeremiah was closer, Bruce could smell the man’s cologne. It was “Fahrenheit” by Dior, and he knew that Jeremiah applied it on his wrists and neck twice a day; once in the morning and again in the afternoon. It smelled pleasant, like clean, smooth silk with just a hint of an earthy smell. It suited him, really, it did. 

But the scent was lighter today, not as strong. 

“Did you forget to reapply your cologne,” Bruce asked evenly, as if there wasn’t a knife pressed against his throat. 

Jeremiah blinked and hummed softly, watching Bruce’s expression diligently. “How odd of you to notice,” he quipped, keeping a tight hold on the knife. 

“You know it’s not,” Bruce replied, his eyes a bit shaper. 

“No, maybe it’s not,” Jeremiah conceded, his voice a soft, hostile melody. 

Bruce watched Jeremiah; his steady grip on the knife, his pale face, his green eyes, and the pulse at his throat. He slowly reached his arm up to grab at the villain’s wrist, but the narrowing of Jeremiah’s eyes made him promptly stop. 

“Usually you’re more direct than this,” Bruce stated. 

“Oh?” Jeremiah said bitterly. He pressed the knife closer and Bruce felt a thin line of blood leak from the small puncture wound. “Do you want me to be more direct, is that it?” The villain hissed, his voice laced with a false sweetness. 

Bruce frowned. “Considering the last time you got jealous of someone you shot a bullet through their spine, I could appreciate this new approach.” 

Suddenly, Bruce gripped Jeremiah’s wrist and twisted it, forcing the villain’s arm behind his back. The madman hissed and let out a broken laugh as Brice pressed him against the nearest wall with a harsh shove. Bruce squeezed the man’s wrist till the knife fell from his hand… then and only then did Bruce take the time to lean in closer, pressing his chest against the expanse of Jeremiah’s back. 

Bruce spoke in the clown’s ear, frustration in his voice. “But I was getting a bit tired of the silent treatment.” 

“Bitter about having to put work in, honey?” Jeremiah taunted, struggling against Bruce’s hold. 

“Two weeks,” Bruce growled. 

“You missed me that bad,” the clown cooed, a cruel smile on his lips. 

Bruce shoved the villain closer to the wall. “Where’s Gordon?” he asked, harsher than before. 

“Depends. Who was the bitch in the red dress? The one who thought she had the right to kiss you like that?” Jeremiah laughed madly. “Oh, you’re lucky I didn’t string her up and – “ 

“She was nothing,” Bruce said, completely truthful. “She was drunk and mistook me for someone else.” 

Jeremiah let out a laugh and spoke with an angry sarcasm. “Oh, yes! She undoubtedly mistook you, one of Gotham’s most prominent, successful men for her normal, boring husband! That makes total sense!” 

Bruce pressed closer to the clown, wanting to turn him around and speak face to face. He didn’t know how Jeremiah knew of the incident, whether he was there himself or if one of his followers happened to see, but he knew if he asked he wouldn’t get a straight answer. 

“I didn’t kiss her back,” Bruce swore, “I didn’t even know her name.” 

“Oh, please!” Jeremiah exclaimed, pushing against Bruce’s hold, attempting to get loose. “She was gorgeous! You were probably staring at her all night,” he finished angrily. 

“So you decided to kidnap Gordon as revenge?” 

“Better than skinning the women alive with a butter knife and throwing her corpse off the tallest building in Gotham,” he let out a giggle, “which just happens to be owned by you,” the madman said sweetly. 

“I’d have to arrest you for that,” Bruce said. 

“Like you aren’t about to do that now,” Jeremiah drawled with the dramatic roll of his eyes. 

Jeremiah’s hair smelled like pine and oats. It was soft and only the slightest bit damp. It curled around the villains’ ears and Bruce wondered if he forgot to straighten it that morning. He wanted to touch it and run his fingers through it, fascinated by its color and texture. 

“I don’t want to arrest you,” Bruce admitted evenly, his breath hitting the back of Jeremiah’s neck. 

The clown froze for a moment, but he eventually found his voice. “Then what would you call this,” Jeremiah hissed, motioning to their current position. 

Bruce had a lot of answers to that question. He could have settled for something neutral, something bland, or something appropriate. He settled for neither of those options. 

Bruce nudged a bit closer, not bothering to hide the true nature of his close proximity. “I’d be inclined to call this something of a… domestic dispute.” He finished uncertainly, a small lift at the end of his voice. 

Jeremiah blinked at that and his expression shifted many times, from confused to happy to angry to confused again. 

Bruce took the opportunity to lean his head down so that his nose was touching the edge of Jeremiah’s hairline. “Your collar is turned up,” he noted casually, in a hushed voice.

“As observant as ever,” Jeremiah snapped, but after a short moment he lifted his chin and asked, “Mind fixing it for me, Brucie?” 

Knowing better than to let go of Jeremiah’s wrist, Bruce leaned down and bit the edge of the man’s collar. Slowly, Bruce pulled it down, the fabric tough between his teeth, more than aware of how his cheek bone pressed against the back of the man’s neck. Jeremiah watched the display, his green eyes intense and murky with a mix of different emotions. 

At this point, Bruce molded to the shape of Jeremiah’s back and they could feel each other’s breaths. Silence consumed the space between them, each of them struggling to decide whether or not to break contact. 

Jeremiah was the first to shatter the silence. “I don’t forgive you,” he hissed. 

“I didn’t kiss her back,” Bruce stated vehemently. “I wouldn’t do that, you know me.” 

Jeremiah twisted so he could better face the vigilante, his eyes dark and his expression a snarl. Bruce’s hold on the man’s wrist broke, but he quickly recuperated by gripping the man’s forearms. They were now chest to chest, inches apart. Their eyes were narrow and hostile, both of them upset and angry. 

“You’re right, Bruce!” Jeremiah shouted, his voice echoing through the room. “I do know you! Those idiots at your parties, the lousy business men at your meetings, those weak civilians who litter the street could never in a million years know you like I know you!” His eyes narrowed and he leaned in so that their faces were only a mere centimeter apart. “Not like this,” he hissed almost sweetly, “Never like this.” 

Bruce met Jeremiah’s eyes, accepting the truth of those words no matter how painful. “Yes,” he whispered, “I don’t imagine anyone has ever seen me like you have.” 

Jeremiah smiled widely, victory shining in his eyes. 

“And no one has ever seen you like I have,” Bruce finished. 

Jeremiah’s eyes became a bit guarded. He tilted his head to the side, openly curious. “Oh, go on, Brucie. Don’t leave a girl hanging.” 

Bruce’s eyes became distant as he recalled events from many years ago. “When you shot Selina, I remember how angry you looked, how devastated you were. You thought that by kissing her I was erasing what we had together.” 

Jeremiah laughed lowly, a deadly smile on his face. “Brucie, I suggest you stop – “ 

Bruce tightened his hold on the villain’s wrist, his eyes narrowing. “You thought I forgot all those days and nights we had spent together in your bunker, all those months we pretended that nothing else existed but the two of us and our plans for the future,” Bruce whispered. “You thought I forgot what it felt like to kiss you, to hold you, to have you. You thought – “ Bruce frowned, anger shining in his eyes. 

“This is nothing like that time, Bruce,” Jeremiah insisted. “This isn’t – “ 

“No, you’re right, it’s not,” Bruce said back, his dark eyes bright and passionate. “It’s not, because this is different. For years you’ve doubted my ability to love you. You still think I only love the version of you that was merely a façade and – “ 

Jeremiah fought against Bruce’s hold, his jaw clenched and his eyes wild. “Stop talking,” he hissed. 

“ – You think that anyone, ANYONE, can just come around and replace you when that’s not true!” Bruce yelled, his voice flooding with emotion. “Jeremiah, you’re the worst and best thing that has ever happened to me and only a fool would think that some women in a red dress could come around and change that.”

Silence prevailed, consuming the small, miniscule space between them. Jeremiah’s jaw was clenched, anger and fear shining in his eyes. Bruce could see him struggle, could see his inner turmoil and found it almost beautiful. 

Suddenly, Jeremiah grabbed at Bruce’s shoulders and shoved him close, his voice like poison. “I want her dead for laying her dirty hands on you,” he said slowly with a brutal, cruel anger. “I want her corpse burning at the bottom of a molten lava bed, I want – “ 

“But you didn’t do that,” Bruce noted hastily. 

“Oh, Brucie,” Jeremiah cooed back, his voice cold and harsh. “You’re lucky I decided to practice that bit of self-restraint.” 

“Where’s Gordon?” Bruce asked in a rush. 

Jeremiah shrugged, letting out a scoff. “Stuffed in one of the janitor’s closets last I checked. Mostly unharmed,” he smiled wickedly. “Mostly.” 

Now having got that issue out of the way, Bruce didn’t even blink before leaning forward and pressing his cheek against Jeremiah’s, now mostly unafraid to initiate contact. He let out a slow breath when the villain didn’t protest and instead moved closer to return the affection. 

Bruce reached forward and gripped Jeremiah’s waist, rubbing his thumb in circles over the cold, pale skin of his torso. He found solace in the flutter of Jeremiah’s eyelashes against the skin of his cheek and asked, “Am I forgiven?” 

Jeremiah hummed. “I wouldn’t say forgiven.” 

The villain gripped Bruce tighter, bringing him impossibly closer. 

“Then what would you say?”

Jeremiah caressed Bruce’s shoulders with gloved hands, and he spoke seductively into the other’s ear, his breath hot and heavy. “Convince me,” he whispered. 

Bruce let out a small, amused huff, smiling against the villain’s cheek. 

“Almost a laugh,” Jeremiah mused softly. 

“You’ll get there one day,” Bruce said, leaning in. 

Jeremiah smiled, “Oh, I’m sure,” he promised before sealing the deal with a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> "Fahrenheit" by Dior is a real cologne that I ALWAYS see ads for at my mall, but "China Doll" by Revlon is a made up lipstick. Nonetheless, I hope ya'll enjoyed the fic! If you see any spelling errors, please tell me and I'll fix them immediately! Also, I live for comments and kudos so don't be afraid to leave 'em before you go ;)


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